


take this longing from my tongue (let me see your beauty broken down)

by Maedhrosly



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to, M/M, Mutual Pining, Shapeshifting Water Tribe, Slow Burn, more tags to be added probably, no beta we die like warriors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maedhrosly/pseuds/Maedhrosly
Summary: At 13, Zuko gets lost in the snowy plains of the South Pole, and is saved by a wolf spirit with eyes like the sea. At 16, he attacks a village near the plains he got lost in, and is confronted by a boy with wolf war paint and eyes like the night.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 117





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is inspired by the amazing Shapeshifting Water Tribe AU created by @sword-over-water on tumblr.  
> This https://sword-over-water.tumblr.com/post/623596637556817920/shapeshifters-water-tribe-people-au-headcanons is the original inspiration post i drew from, and this https://sword-over-water.tumblr.com/post/623555211470028800/shapeshifter-sokka-au-the-time-the-newly-banished is the image this prologue is based on!!

Zuko was freezing. He knew that this was to be expected in the South Pole, but still he was unprepared for the invasive cold of the icy tundra he was battling across. They had been sailing the southern waters for a month now, having left the Western Air Temple behind once it had become clear that the Avatar was nowhere to be found there. He had adjusted to the barren, inhospitable climate more quickly than he had anticipated; his uncle constantly reminding him of what every firebending instructor he’d known since the age of seven had told him. _‘Control of your breath is the key to this art, Prince Zuko. It is the fuel of your fire, and once you have complete mastery of this fuel, you will never be cold again.’_

He’d been fine on the ship. Given the robust furnace that powered it, and the multiple firebenders among the crew, the vessel was consistently encapsulated by what was almost its own microclimate. It was nothing near the tropical humidity of the Fire Nation, but it was comfortable – cozy even, in comparison to the surrounding ice drifts – and a small part of Zuko regretted abandoning it. He’d argued with his uncle about the slow pace of their voyage (the South Pole was clearly void of any civilisation! Had it not been for the sporadic clusters of huts and igloos along the coast, as well as the occasional fishing vessel spotted from a distance, he’d have happily assumed the Southern Water Tribe to be extinct. It was impossible the Avatar could be here!) and had left the ship in a sulk. That had been his first mistake.

His second had been bullishly continuing forward when the snowstorm hit, his anger outweighing his common sense and self-preservation. The cold of the South Pole was encompassing and unavoidable, but this snowstorm was a wholly different beast. If the cold normally nipped at his fingers, and the tips of his ears and nose – persistent, but chased away with warm breath without much resistance – then this cold’s teeth tore and ravaged his flesh. Zuko struggled even to regulate the temperature of his core, having given up on his extremities within two hours of being lost in the violent, endless white. Along the raised edges of his scar the cold was especially cruel. The skin was still tender and freshly healed, having only lost its bandages a week earlier. The wind danced along the ragged flesh with a disarming gentleness, only to twist burning icy needles in when he least expected it. This cold was a wolf; hungry, dangerous, and above all, wily. 

* * *

In the weeks since Hakoda and the rest of the men and older boys left to fight, Sokka had taken to roaming the snow plains to the southwest of the village in his other shape. Often he hunted, and with increasing success brought home fresh meat for the village, always saving a little extra for his seal-skinned sister. But often he simply bounded across the vast white expanse, all razor teeth, his fur like starlight, and eyes hungrier than the sea.

He had found a cave, a few miles out from the village, which became _his_ ; somewhere only he knew of, away from the sparse remainder of his village, and the daily reminder of his inadequacy. Though, he thought, maybe one day he’d share it with Katara. When the snowstorm hit, he had been stalking some buffalo-elk. Too far from the village to turn back Sokka braced himself, and howling to rival the storm, he charged ahead into the blizzard. Despite his attuned senses, the relentless chaos of whirling snow left him disoriented. Even so, the way had become instinctive to him; every bolder and crevice was mapped on his mind. So, he registered the new addition of a human figure stumbling and struggling not to collapse from the onslaught of nature, before he truly noticed it.

Dressed all in white, this figure might’ve been invisible in the storm had it not been for his dark hair and unusual scent. It was nothing like Sokka had smelled before; partly the rich, savoury smell of a wood fire, partly the smell of crisp parchment – like the scrolls and maps his father kept stored so carefully in a sealed box – and something Sokka couldn’t quite place. It was light, almost-but-not-quite sweet; there was something familiar about it, he thought. Like… like that tea his Gran Gran had brewed a few years earlier, on his father’s thirty-fifth birthday. They had sat together in the igloo – him, Katara, his father, and Gran Gran – and shared the pot that Kanna had made with great care. It was from the Earth Kingdom, she had said, a great delicacy; hard to get, only for special occasions, she continued, and what occasion more special than her son’s birthday. Sokka had been young, had never tried any tea before in his life, let alone rare imported tea. He had felt adult, important; if only he could remember the name Gran Gran had given it. Straining his memory, he thought it might’ve been the name of a flower.

Sokka observed the flower-scented stranger battle the storm; as he got closer, he saw the boy was barely older than he was, if at all. He made his decision. This foreigner would die if he did not help, and Sokka would not allow that. Besides; if the flower-boy was dangerous, Sokka knew he was more so. He was a wolf, after all, and this land was his land.

* * *

Zuko was getting colder. Every breath was a battle, and with each exhalation he felt a little more of the command over his body-heat slip away. He was going do die here; surrounded by snow and ice and wind and the abject absence of heat. A shameful death for a shameful crown prince. He steeled himself, brought his hands to his mouth, and attempted his breath-of-fire. What he managed was barely tepid. With what ferocity he could muster, he spat a string of words he’d learned by listening to the members of his crew when they thought that neither he nor his uncle were listening. Maybe he was imagining it, but he could’ve sworn the stinging pain in his fingertips abated, though he was still achingly cold.

He was on the verge of passing out, when Zuko saw a shape emerge from the churning snow. He didn’t know what it was, only that it stood at almost his height even while on all fours, and that it was drawing closer and closer and clo

* * *

Zuko woke up to warmth, and something soft and fluffy beneath his cheek and fingertips. He could hear the wailing and whistling of the storm, but it was more distant now, as if outside. He opened his eyes. Darkness. Nervously, he held out his hand to light a flame. After a few stuttered false starts he managed, and the gentle glow revealed he was in a small cave, just high enough for him to stand in. It was tucked slightly at an angle to its entrance, so while Zuko could see the storm was still raging outside, it did not enter the cave. It really was a close space, only large enough for him and… he looked down and saw what he had been lying on.

A wolf, larger than any Zuko had seen, with sleek silver fur that glowed supernaturally in the firelight, long claws that rested on the dirt floor, and bright blue eyes that were… looking straight at him.

Zuko started and backed up against the wall of the cave, nearly letting the fire go out, as the wolf got up and walked towards him. This would be a far more painful and shameful death than freezing, Zuko thought.

Except.

The wolf came straight up to Zuko, his nose nearly against Zuko’s; blue eyes level with amber ones. Zuko let a long breath out. ‘You’re not going to eat me.’

Of course not – if that were the case, Zuko never would’ve woken up. ‘You’re not going to eat me!’ He reached out, still tentative, and placed a hand on the wolf’s head, gently massaging it. He saw, to his great surprise, that over his white leather and wool snowsuit, he was wearing one of the blue furred coats they’d seen on the few Water tribespeople they’d spotted from a distance. It really was warm and dry – far better than anything Fire Nation made. The wolf growled low in its throat.

‘Oh! Sorry,’ Zuko pulled his hand away, ‘Do you… have a name?’

As soon as he said it, Zuko realised what he’d said, and shrank inwards with embarrassment. The wolf cocked its head, eyes looking inquisitively at Zuko: almost human.

‘That was stupid. I’m sorry. Of course you couldn’t tell me your name even if you had one. Still,’ Zuko looked at the animal. ‘You have very lovely fur; I’ve never seen such a silver. You’re Silver.’

The wolf made no apparent objection to this, so Zuko reached out to pet its head again. ‘Hello Silver.’ Silver let Zuko pat him, as he got closer to the boy until they were nose to nose again. A broad, flat tongue emerged from between wicked-looking teeth, and with surprising delicacy traced the lower edge of Zuko’s scar. He brought his hand back to touch the tender skin.

‘Ahh. This. Yeah.’ Zuko sank down against the cave wall. Silver padded away and lay on the floor by Zuko, facing him, staring with those strange blue eyes.

‘This was my father. I… I disappointed him – shamed him – so he burned me. Then banished me. This is my punishment for being an unworthy son.’

Zuko was tired. He felt the eyes of the wolf watching him.

‘I…’ Zuko yawned. ‘I have to regain…’ Yawn. ‘…my honour.’

* * *

‘Prince Zuko! Prince Zuko!’

Zuko woke again to the sound of his uncle’s voice from outside the cave. The storm, it seemed, had stopped while he had slept. How long that had been, Zuko didn’t know, but he was still exhausted. Silver was nowhere to be seen.

He crawled to the entrance and out into the bright light of the midnight sun upon fresh snow, collapsing in front of the red-clad search party from his ship.

‘Here… Uncle…’

The last thing Zuko could remember, as he was being carried over Lieutenant Jee’s shoulder back to the ship, was thinking of something Iroh had told him about the spirits of the water tribe, and the wolfish forms they sometimes took to wander the human world.

* * *

From behind a snowy mound a wolf watched the red-clad party trek across the frozen desert. This boy was Fire Nation; Sokka had realised that when the boy firebended to light the cave. By all rights he was Sokka’s enemy, and yet Sokka felt sorry for him.

He’d thought of his own father, who had left him behind, but had placed his trust in Sokka’s skills as a warrior. Would Hakoda hurt his son, if he were to disappoint? Sokka couldn’t begin to imagine it.

He knew the Fire Nation was evil, but he’d never have believed _anyone_ could stoop to burning any child, let alone one’s own. And yet this boy was Fire Nation himself, while also a victim of the Fire Nation. Sokka mulled this paradox over; this boy was from the nation of his enemies. Yet, so far from home and with such a mark of suffering so plain to see, Sokka knew in his spirit this boy was a comrade in pain at the hands of the Fire Lord and his hordes.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait! I've been sorting out a move to Spain to study, and have been caught up in admin & looking for apartments. But here's the next chapter!! I've taken some liberties with the timeline/events & condensed some stuff bc I don't plan on majorly diverging the plot until it gets to S2, so I don't want it to just be a blow by blow description of what happens in the show. Also included some aspects of my headcanons about multilingualism in the Avatar universe.
> 
> (also forgot to mention that the title is from Take this Longing by Leonard Cohen)

**3 years later**

It was Katara’s fault. What had supposed to be a regular, routine fishing trip, had of course ended in a squabble between the two siblings, which had of course ended in Katara losing her temper. And, as often accompanied Katara’s ire, unnaturally… choppy… waters. When they had been small, Katara’s talent had been a source of endless fascination to him,even when the most common outcome of her playing with water was his getting drenched. If he were to be honest with himself, it still was – most of the time. At that moment however, staring at the splintered remains of his canoe as they slipped away between two plates of ice, he found himself (only slightly guiltily) wishing he were an only child. 

The iceberg was a startling development though. Katara had never bent more that what amounted to a few buckets of water before – only ever enough to douse Sokka – yet its sudden appearance was undoubtedly her doing. Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice when the sphere cracked until it was too late, and only because Katara had stopped her tirade at him.

A small figure, in strange clothes – and no furs – crested the iceberg’s open top. Sokka drew his club as his sister rushed to catch them. They slumped in her arms and she was about to take her parka off for them, when bright eyes snapped open.

‘Do you wanna go penguin sledding with me?’

The boy’s name was Aang, and he spoke the common tongue. When Hakoda had taught his children the major Earth Kingdom language adopted by the other three nations centuries previously, Sokka imagined communicating with a supposed airbender was beyond the last thing he could’ve anticipated they’d use it for. Sokka pulled Katara aside. ‘And how are we getting home?’ he asked her in their own language, and before she could reply, ‘I mean the both of us.’ Katara closed her mouth and chewed her lip, a habit from when she was little and was trying to think of the right answer to a riddle Sokka had given her.

‘Uh… Katara? Sokka?’ It was Aang again. ‘Do you guys need a ride or something? Only Appa’s here with me. He’s a flying bison.’

Flying _bison_? Sokka could’ve sworn he’d misheard. Or forgotten the actual meaning of the word ‘bison’. He racked his brains for some other word Aang could’ve said instead _._ The siblings turned to face him. Whatever was beside him, Sokka was fairly certain could be described as a bison as he understood it, though he was utterly unable to conceive of how it could possibly fly. Before he could stop her, Katara was by Aang’s side. She took her pelt from the inner pouch of her parka that Gran Gran had added to keep it safe, and handed it to Aang. He allowed her to, and held it gently while he helped her up into the saddle. Sokka followed her begrudgingly – if his sister trusted this boy with her pelt, who was he to doubt her judgement? Ignoring Aang’s proffered hand, he scrambled up beside Katara.

When the siblings were both settled, Aang _jumped_ up to land behind the bison’s horns.

‘Wow, you _are_ an airbender!’ Katara leaned over the front of the saddle to stroke the dense, soft fur.

‘Sure am!’ Aang said, carefully passing Katara’s pelt back to her, seemingly unaware of her perplexed response, ‘Is that really so surprising?’

Katara turned exchange a look with Sokka as Aang took hold of the reins.

‘Yip-yip!’

* * *

Had it been possible, Zuko could’ve sworn the South Pole had managed to get even colder since he’d last searched there, at the very start of his banishment. He’d hoped never to have to return to the icy waste, but in three years he’d managed to exhaust every single whispered rumour, drunken brag, or lofty – yet spurious – claim that was even remotely connected to any possible location of the Avatar. 

‘A hunter needn’talways retrace his steps, but a prudent one still does,’ his Uncle had said. Normally Zuko merely shrugged Iroh’s aphorisms off, but he was willing to admit that there was a fair chance he may have missed something the first time he was in the south. And besides, it was hardly like he had a better course of action.

Zuko worked his way flamelessly through the most recent set of katas Iroh had taught him, and found his thoughts drift – as they did from time to time – to that night of the blizzard, and the spirit that had saved him. He never told anyone what had happened, though he imagined that Iroh knew – or at least suspected – that something had come to his rescue. The more he thought of what happened, the more it baffled him. Without Silver, he surely would’ve died; yet, he was an enemy of the Water Tribe. Perhaps the spirits saw no sides in the war. Perhaps he had simply seemed too young to seen as a serious threat. Whatever the wolf’s reasoning, Zuko owed him his life. That was a debt that Zuko could not forget, and he knew long needed paying back, somehow.

* * *

The flying bison had turned out to be more of a swimming bison. Unless, of course, that had been what Aang had meant, and something had been spectacularly lost in translation. They still managed to make it back home in good time, and Aang had no problems charming the village children, despite none of them understanding much – if anything – of what he was saying. It seemed to Sokka that the kid really was harmless.

Until he set off the flare.

The ruin of the ship had loomed over the tribe; an iron reminder of the danger that their absent fathers, brothers, and sons had all left to face. A danger that could come for them one day.

When Katara and Aang returned to the village, Sokka nearly tackled his little sister and held her tightly. He had come so close to losing her too. 

‘Aang,’ Sokka tried to muster up the authority he needed, despite his uncertainty of the accuracy of his language, and pointed to the gates of the small snow fort. ‘You are… banished. Go.’

Aang, his brilliant smile long gone from his round face, hung his head. ‘I… I’m sorry. Really.’

But before he had made it halfway to the exit, his staff in tow, ash had started to speckle the bright snow: everyone Katara’s age and older knew what the ash snow meant. Though Sokka had only ever seen it once before in his life, he knew as well as any of the elder tribes-members what it meant.

‘Go, get to safety!’ he yelled at the surrounding village. Katara pulled Aang with her as Sokka ran to his tent.

Dressing himself in his warrior’s vestments and painting his face was meditative for Sokka. Though he was not off fighting with his father, it connected Sokka to the men who had left. He was the sole protector of his tribe, his family, at this moment. Painting his face, mimicking the other face he wore, he found himself wishing he could shift. He did not know how many boats were coming, but he knew he would’ve stood a better chance. His wolf form was strong and his teeth were sharp. If the fire nation had come for blood, Sokka knew it was only a matter of time before they finished with him, and moved on to Gran Gran or Katara and– but he couldn’t even allow the thought to reach completion. He would do his duty; that was all he could do. And he knew that meant guarding their nation’s secret too. Should the Fire Nation ever discover the gift the spirits had bestowed on the Water Tribes… he could not begin to imagine the horror. 

* * *

Sokka stood on the battlements, solitary, as the ship ploughed through the ice towards him. He stood his ground, even as the prow demolished the snow beneath him, and knocked him to the hard ice, winding him. Struggling to breath, he managed to right himself; spear in one hand and boomerang in the other, ready to face the monsters who would soon descend the gangway.

He counted five, in a diamond formation; faceless under their wicked horned helmets. Sokka didn’t wait. He charged at their leader, and was immediately kicked out of the way, landing headfirst into a snowdrift.

By the time he had extracted himself the leader was speaking, and Sokka caught his smell; acrid smoke, the smell of burning tar – but beneath that something softer, familiar… 

Sokka looked up at the leader’s face, leaner and crueller than it had been during their first encounter, but unmistakably _him._

* * *

Zuko hadn’t expected the Avatar to be a talkative twelve year old boy, whose accent in the common tongue Zuko had never heard in any of the Earth Kingdom towns they had stopped at. Iroh called it charmingly old-fashioned. Despite his naïve appearance, Zuko knew not to underestimate the most powerful being in their world. 

He could’ve done better not to underestimate the incompetent young waterbender, and only marginally more skilled boy with the boomerang who had followed his boat on a strange, shaggy beast. 

He had found the Avatar, who had escaped almost immediately. The mission had been a failure. The wolf spirit would be angry at his destruction of the village, and though Zuko was normally not one to pray to spirits, he thought of the blue parka folded at the bottom of his trunk, and silently offered up a plea for Silver’s forgiveness as he watched his hope of absolution fly into the clouds, unaware that in the wolf’s eyes he had betrayed him beyond redemption.


End file.
